


It Was The One-Armed Man

by The Monster Lady (VisceraNight)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Reader Is Also Bad At Picking Up Signals, Reader Is Bad At Flirting, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8594008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceraNight/pseuds/The%20Monster%20Lady
Summary: Reader and Shanks walked into a bar...   I am excellent at summaries.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vizkopa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizkopa/gifts), [Tsula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsula/gifts), [Animefreak1145](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animefreak1145/gifts), [DeathRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathRose/gifts).



> Dedicated to all the wonderful writers who inspired me to finally start writing and posting my own reader-insert fics.

~ It Was The One-Armed Man ~

The sound of shattering glass echoes through the tavern. The other patrons fall silent and turn to stare in the direction the sound originated from - the table in the back corner that you and your crew are gathered around.

Panicked, your crewmate who broke the glass blurts out, "It wasn't me; it was the one-armed man!"

Giggles break out amongst the group, until you realize that the rest of the bar is still uncomfortably silent, and nervous gazes are flicking between your table and-

 _Oh, fuck_.

 That is the infamous pirate captain, Red-Haired Shanks - who just so happens to be a one-armed man - striding toward your table right now. Right here. In this tavern. At this moment. Curse your horrible luck!

"What exactly am I being accused of doing?" he asks, halting his approach several steps away from where you are sitting.

The actual offender appears to have fainted from either fear or drunkenness, or possibly some combination of the two. No one else in your small group seems willing to speak up, either, so it looks like you're going to have to be the one to answer.

"Spilling my drink," you tell him. You fail to mention the broken glass. But you're not particularly concerned with the glass itself, since it belongs to the bar, not you.

"Oh, how terrible of me," Shanks replies, grinning. "Shall I buy the lady another?"

At first you think he's being sarcastic... but from the way he's smiling at you, it seems like he's genuinely amused by the situation.

"Uh... if you really want to, I guess..." you reply hesitantly.

He crosses the room to the bar and returns with a bright pink fruity cocktail thing that you don't even know the name of. By the time he gets back to the table, the rest of your crew is gone, having fled under the pretense of carrying the unconscious idiot back to the ship. Even with their coordination dulled by alcohol, it shouldn't take _all_ of them to carry one person. You know that no matter how drunk they are, they would never abandon you in the face of danger. Which means... they must think you wanted to be alone with Shanks? But, why would they think that? It's not like you're going to... oh. You suddenly realize that Shanks was probably flirting with you when he offered to replace your drink, and your acceptance (however awkward) of his offer was taken to mean his interest was reciprocated. Nevermind that the whole rest of your crew nearly pissed their pants at the idea of even speaking to him! Seriously, what were they even thinking, leaving you alone with him...

And while all of this is going through your mind, Shanks is standing there beside you, holding out the neon pink drink.

Not knowing what else to do, you thank him politely for the drink and ask if he'd like to join you.

He laughs as he takes a seat beside you at the suddenly suspiciously-empty table.

"I see your crew made themselves scarce."

"Yeah..." you say slowly, not sure how else to reply. Damn, you're bad at this.

Shanks doesn't seem to mind that you make a poor conversationalist, as he regales you with (likely embellished) tales of his adventures at sea. Eventually the conversation comes back around to the thing that got his attention in the first place: your idiot friend yelling about 'the one-armed man'. By this point, you've had enough drinks to settle your nerves and you feel comfortable enough to tell him the story behind the usage of that particular phrase.

"My whole crew, we come from this small town on this real old, tiny ass island that most people haven't even heard of. And there's this statue in the town square. Super ancient thing. No one knows who it's even supposed to be a statue of anymore, because the lettering on the base is so worn down that you can't make out what it says. He's been missing an arm for as long as anyone can remember, too. The stump is worn smooth where it broke off. Anyway, any time we got in trouble for something when we were kids, everyone would always say 'It wasn't me; it was the one-armed man!' We never got out of trouble by saying it... it just ended up being one of those things that everyone picks up on and becomes a regular thing - something like a tradition, you know? And we found out later from Steve's grandpa that our parents used to say it when they were kids, too!"

Shanks laughs and squeezes your shoulder. Wait... when did he put his arm around your shoulders? And when did he move his chair close enough to yours to be able to do that? And exactly how drunk (or how caught up in your own storytelling) were you that you didn't _notice_ what he was doing? But now that you have noticed, you find that you don't particularly mind. You're not normally a super cuddly person, but the warm weight of his arm across your shoulders feels... nice, somehow, in a way you can't really describe. You've got a bad case of the warm-fuzzies going on...

"Yeah, those things happen," he comments.

You snort. "Anyway, the funny thing is that the statue lost his other arm in a storm when were teenagers, a few years before we left for the sea... so everyone started saying 'It wasn't me; it was the no-armed man' instead. Steve was so drunk he forgot about that and said 'one-armed' instead of 'no-armed'."

"And if he hadn't, I might never have had the excuse to talk to you," Shanks says.

"Eh... I'm sure you could have come up with something if you really wanted to," you say.

Unfortunately, your date is brought to a sudden halt by the arrival of several members of both your and Shanks' crews, who have come to warn the two of you that Marine ships were spotted nearby and appear to be heading this way. You don't know what Shanks will decide to do, but your captain has decided to flee before the Marines arrive, and your crewmates have been ordered to bring you back to the ship.

"We should do this again sometime," Shanks says, before releasing you to convene with his crew.

"Sure, another time," you agree. Belatedly you add, "Also, for future reference: I prefer straight rum, none of this pink girly shit."

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to have the rest of the reader's crew be entirely nameless, but somewhere around the last quarter of the story, dude who knocked over your glass ended up being called Steve. *shrugs*


End file.
